Diamond In The Rough
by PBandJ-blues
Summary: An amnesiac stumbles into the arms of desperate survivors. Daryl/OC.
1. Prologue

*Author's Note: If you want to read more than the first chapter then review please!

Prologue

My stinging, blood-shot eyes stare up towards the bright blue sky, observing as the fluffy puffs of cloud flow by painfully slow. I lay flat on my back, unsure if it is safe to move as of yet. My dark forest green eyes dart back and forth between each speck of sun peeking through the clouds. My body remains in the comfort of shade beneath a large tree, with its outstretched branches covered with leaves, protecting my figure from the harsh rays of the sun. My clothes stick to my sweaty skin in patches, caused by the summer heat. I draw my hand up to hold my aching head and notice a spot of blood. I narrow my eyes, attempting to focus on the crimson blood staining my hand but my mind is hazy and unfocused. I blink a few times, attempting to clear the haze of confusion from my thoughts but it refuses to cease. "Aw, shit," I mumble, struggling to lift myself up into a sitting position. Every muscle in my body aches and my head continues to throb, agonizingly.

What the hell happened to me? My brain battles with itself to recall its last memory. A woman's scream tears through the clear air. I jolt up onto my feet suddenly, my muscles screaming at my body to take it easy. I search the woods for the direction of the scream, as my hands bend to retrieve my fallen weapon from the ground. I grip the knife tightly in my hands as I follow the direction of the scream, cautiously. I manage my steps carefully, making certain that they would barely make a noise. The woman screams once more, this time louder and more persistent. I quicken my pace and dart through the trees, not caring if I was crushing broken branches and twigs in my wake. I notice a sliver of a pale hand, grabbing onto a tree trunk, between the hanging foliage. When I come up to the clearing I witness a tall woman kicking out at a walker, gripping onto the trunk behind her for better leverage. Further and further she is backed up against the tree as the walker saunters down onto her, grabbing ahold of her leg, causing her to fall over. She lands on the ground face first as I race over to aid her.

"Hey!" I shout, picking up a stray rock from the ground and pegging it at the walker's head. He twists around, enraged by the sudden disruption of his meal. One side of what used to be the man's face was torn off, the broken flesh dangling at his cheek. His eyes are a pale, sickly yellow color. The other side of his face is startlingly human compared to the other rotting, decomposing side. His teeth are grimy and black, stained by dirt and blood and his tattered clothes hang off of his thin frame in strips. He barrels towards me furiously. I panic from his sudden movement and stumble backwards slightly. His hands move to clamp onto my arm to chomp his jaw into it, tearing out chunks of skin; but my reflexes save me as I shove the knife, gripped in my hand, right into the center of his eye. He continues to wriggle beneath my grip so I remove the knife as swiftly as I can, to stab it in between his skull, puncturing whatever brain remained within.

The zombie tips over and collapses to the ground in a heap. I can see the woman coming towards me, but my vision suddenly becomes immensely blurry. I reach out to grab onto something so I do not fall, but all the lights go out and I stumble backwards into the walker's mutilated corpse.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Amnesia

_The infusion center is bitter cold and eerily quiet. I lay in the chair, fiddling with the TV remote trying to find a station that wasn't riddled by stupid reality shows. I stop once I see the price is right, and realize that this is as good as it's going to get. I'm not a big fan of television; I prefer to use Netflix so I can choose what kind of shows I would like to watch. My machine beeps loudly and obnoxiously over and over as I wait for my nurse to return, so she can unplug me. "Alright, you are all done," she states, perkily unhooking the tube connected to the bag of cisplatin. "Are you excited that this is your last day of chemotherapy?" she asks, gently slipping the IV out of the vein in my hand. _

_Her eyes are so hopeful and expectant, so I reply with a "Yes," enthusiastically. Honestly though, I can't really say that I'm happy exactly. I'm glad that it is all over for now, but what will happen in 2 or 3 years when I'm getting checked to see if the cancer has returned? I can't help but worry about the future and what kind of results I will get from doctors. For now though, I have to remain hopeful. It's the only way that I can live like this. I have to keep a positive outlook and hope for the best. "Okay, you're all set," she says, with a smile. She pats my bruised arm, comfortingly. I smile back at her and push all of the blankets off of my freezing legs so that I can lift myself out of the chair. "You need help?" she asks. "Nope, I've got it. Thanks," I reply standing and fetching my purse from the floor. _

"_Remember to call if you have a fever of over 102," she reminds me. "Yes, yes. I know Tatiana. I've been here a million times before, remember?" I tease, readying myself to leave. I search the floor for any items I might have left behind, it's all clear. "Just doing my job," she utters, throwing her hands in the air as if to say don't shoot the messenger. I nod and give her a hug before leaving, "Thanks for everything Tati" I voice. "No problem," she responds, returning the hug. Before I turn to leave she shouts, "Hardcore!" I laugh at our own personal joke. The first time I came into the infusion center she had to give me a huge shot that went into my muscle, the first thing I said was "Bring it on," and she replied with "Hardcore!"_

_I would miss Tatiana, she is such a sweet nurse, but I would certainly not miss the place. It reeks of illness and death, and I did not need any more of that in my life._

"Is she bitten? Did you check?!" a deep voice bellows, stirring me from my dream. My eyelashes feel as if they are glued together, as I attempt to pry them open, painfully. "Quick, she's waking up!" someone shouts. I feel two firm hands holding my arms down, as my eyes rip open to see a burly, dark-haired man holding me purposefully to the ground. I thrash about in a panic, struggling to break from his hold, but his grip is strong and forceful. "Would you get the fuck off me? I'm not bitten so let me go!" I scream out, kicking out at the male figure. "Calm down, everything will be fine. You don't need to worry about anyone hurting you," another male speaks, his voice calm and articulate.

From what I could see, I am being held in some sort of a make-shift tent, lying on someone's sleeping mat. "Well, she's some spitfire," the man holding me down states in a thick southern drawl, fighting against my wriggling body. He glances up at the other male figure that I assume to be a leader of some sort. "What do we do with her? I'm not holding 'er down all day" he asks, pushing my arms further into the fabric. I wince, his grip straining my muscles, but I continue to thrash against him certainly not wanting to give in. I don't know what these people want, but I'm not going down without a fight. "We'll have Lori come in and take a look at her to make sure there are no bites. We're not taking any chances. If she's bitten then she won't be allowed to stay," the man standing next to the one holding me pronounces. "Won't be allowed to stay? We need to shoot her straight in the head if she's bitten," the one holding me down, retorts. The other one sighs and takes a moment to respond, "We'll deal with that when we get to it."

"Look, I'm not bitten I swear. I don't want any trouble now, so can you just let me go?" I plead, my voice coming out weak from exhaustion. "Like I said before, don't worry. We won't hurt you. We just have to make sure that you won't turn," the leader replies. "My name is Rick, and this is Daryl. My wife Lori will come in to make sure that you're clean. I'm sorry for all of this but it's just a precaution" he continues, looking down at me sympathetically. Rick leaves and I sigh, finally relaxing against Daryl's stringent grasp upon my arms. Might as well conserve my energy for when I really need it, for fighting those "things" out there. I narrow my eyes up at the man called Daryl, "You can let me go now. I won't fight you," I state. He raises a brow humorously, "Like I should believe you. I ain't stupid. I know you're just 'gonna run away" he replies. I shrug, complacently, "Suit yourself," I say.

He does not release me but his grip relaxes on my arms slightly. This is my chance to escape, I realize. I move to head butt him in the face but a woman enters the tent suddenly, distracting me momentarily. My action does not go unnoticed and Daryl pushes me back towards the ground, pressing his elbow into my jugular. "I told you I ain't stupid," he replies, his dark green eyes glaring into mine. I glower at him angrily, mentally wishing that I could punch him in the face. "Let her go Daryl," the woman commands, crossing her arms over her chest, crossly. I notice that it was the woman from earlier, struggling with the walker in the woods. "She could be a threat to all of us, I ain't letting her go," Daryl responds, refusing to release me. "I said to let her go Daryl, she saved my life. She ain't no threat," the woman replies. The two stare at each for a long moment, having some sort of Mexican stand-off. Finally, Daryl releases me and I rub the sore marks on my arms and wrists, trying to relieve the aching pain. "I don't got time for this shit. 'You want a walker running loose around camp then fine, you deal with it," he retorts, pushing the woman out of his way before sauntering towards the tent flap. "Women," he mutters under his breath before he exits.

"What an ass-wipe," I murmur, accidentally saying the words aloud. I look away embarrassed, but the woman laughs at my comment. "Yea, he can be a real ass-wipe sometimes but he is real useful towards this group and it would be a shame to lose him," she states, moving closer towards me. I move closer towards the wall of the tent, still distrustful towards these people. "Don't be scared. I'm not here to hurt you. My name is Lori, what's your name?" she asks, comfortingly. I stare up at her, unexpectedly confused. What is my name? I tried to remember, but my memories acted like a scratched record, continuously playing on a loop. I remember waking up in the forest and I remember protecting Lori. I remember understanding what a walker is, but not knowing why or how I did. It was as if my memory was damaged or something. "I…don't remember," I respond, rubbing my head slowly. "That's alright, just relax, no need to stress out or anything. I'm sure it will come to you," she answers, soothingly. I nod in understanding and decide that she means me no harm, so I relax against the mat and close my eyes, attempting to relax.

"I need to check you for bites if you don't mind. I'm going to lift up your shirt, is this okay?" she asks, politely. I nod my head without opening my eyes and she lifts up my shirt, no doubt examining for bite marks. I know that a walker's bite can turn you into one of them, but how do I know that? I can't remember. I couldn't remember anything before the incident in the forest with Lori. I open my eyes and notice Lori inspecting my arms for any sort of marks. "You have an awful bruise here, what happened?" she asks, pointing towards the blemish on my hand. I stare at the bruise, focusing solely on it, hoping that it would conjure up a memory. I notice that it trailed along my vein, like it was caused by something being injected into my bloodstream. A needle, a bag of fluid, an IV…all of a sudden I could remember one thing. "I don't remember," I respond, glancing away from her eyes to stare at the side of the tent. I don't know how large this group is, but if it is as safe as it appears, I should make nice with them. However, if they knew that I had been sick before, I would be viewed as a weakness or maybe even a liability.

I need to be accepted into this group if I want to live. If I tried to make it on my own, I would have a stiff chance at surviving. After all that I've been through; I of all people should truly know the importance of survival, and what comes with that price.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Savannah

I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer a year ago, when I was 19. Everyone expected me to become upset, or angry at the world for giving me something like cancer. The second the doctor told me that was what I had, the only response I could think of was, "So what do we do now?" Sometimes I'm scared of dying one day from the illness that took up so much of my life, but I can't continue to live that way forever. Even before the outbreak, I never took anything for granted; every day was to be lived like my last. Maybe that was why I didn't have much trouble adjusting to the change in lifestyle now that walkers were roaming free, for every day is a precious moment that can be as fleeting as it is dangerous.

I overhear Lori and Rick conversing outside of the tent about what to do with me, like I didn't have any sort of input of my own. I cross my arms over my chest and fold my legs underneath me, Indian style, and continue to eavesdrop on their conversation. "I noticed some blood on her hand but I don't think it was hers. I'm assuming it was a walker's," Lori explains. "She doesn't seem like a threat to us. She might even become useful to the group. After all, she did take down a walker to protect you," Rick replies. "Maybe we could ask her to join us. We can't just turn her out into the wilderness," Lori continues. Rick remains silent for a moment; I assume that he is taking the time to ruminate over Lori's words.

"Okay, but we have to put it to a vote. If the group doesn't accept her then we can give her supplies but she is on her own from there," Rick responds. "But," Lori begins, "Don't worry about it. I will put in a good word for her. I don't want her to face what we did out there, especially not alone, but the group has to agree," Rick clarifies further, interrupting her. More silence ensued. After a few minutes Rick returns into the tent and throws out a hand for me to shake. "I'm sorry for the rude introduction earlier but, I'm Rick. It's nice to meet you," he states, politely. I study Rick's face; it is kind, open and handsome in a way that most men's faces aren't. He has an old-fashioned, gentlemanly way about him that seems to be comforting. I stare at his hand for a moment but ultimately return the handshake. Rick seems like a sensible, kind leader. I wouldn't mind belonging to a group run by him. "I really appreciate what you did for my wife, Lori. She was really shaken up after what happened out there," he continues, his hands resting on his belt.

"It was nothing really. I heard someone scream so I came over to see if anyone was injured. Anybody would have done the same," I reply, modestly. "Don't be too sure about that. I've seen people do some pretty terrible things these past few weeks, that I never thought would have been possible before all of this," he utters, his eyes thoughtful. I chuckle softly, "Yeah, well I wouldn't really know. I don't remember anything before all of this began" I elucidate, gazing up at him curiously. He simply nods in understanding, "Lori told me that you were having trouble remembering things. Do you not remember anything? Not even your name?" he asks. I shake my head, "No," I reply. I hate lying to people, especially people that I believe I can trust, but I didn't want to be kicked out of the group because of how ill I used to be.

I am different now. I'm stronger, faster, and more capable of doing things than I have been in a long time. It sounds incredibly strange but this apocalypse or whatever the fuck this thing happening should be called, is one of the best things that could have happened to me. I feel as if I have some sort of control over my life, and that I won't be killed by some stupid illness that genius scientists can't even cure. In this new world, everyone is afflicted by the same curse. We all have to fight demons daily to get by. Life is a constant struggle, a daily battle; but this time, I don't feel so alone.

Rick sat me down with the rest of the group to discuss my initiation. "She saved Lori's life, so that certainly proves that she is worthy and useful enough to join our group," Rick clarifies to the group. I was already introduced to all of them so I made my first impressions clear. Shane is the creepy looking dude with the short hair-cut, staring at me from the corner. I haven't really figured out his story yet but I aim to avoid him if I can, he gives off a bad vibe. Andrea and Amy are two sisters and they sit next to Dale, the sweet old man. Dale also has a kind and open face like Rick. Carl sits next to his mother of course. Carol, Sophia, and Ed all sit extremely close together, as a family. I especially don't like the look of Ed; he really gives me the creeps with his possessive glare, as if he is saying _this is mine_ with his eyes, while holding an overprotective arm around his wife. What a creep. T-Dog seems like a sweetheart, gazing at me with welcome eyes, and Jim and his family are seated next to Glenn, the teenage Asian.

Daryl, the man from before, sits off on his own away from everyone else. A lone wolf I assume. He glances up at me in disinterest, but his posture appears rigid and tight, as if he is ready to jump into battle at any given moment. I glance back towards the rest of the group and listen as they discuss my fate. The only ones that seem to be against my entering the group are Shane and Ed. "How do we know she ain't going to hold us back? We don't need no more dead weight around here now do we?" Ed asks, glancing over at his wife with distaste. I continue to glare at him angrily, scraping my nails down my pant leg, controlling myself from not tearing this guy's throat out. "Yeah Rick, we've done so much to ensure the safety of this group. What if she jeopardizes it?" Shane adds his eyes fierce. I scowl at him resentfully as Rick replies, "Now, now. No one around here is dead weight. We all contribute in some way. If she doesn't feel comfortable fighting, then I'm sure she can gather food or do the laundry around camp. Everyone has their part around here after all."

"Well spoken," Dale concurs. "Yeah, I don't see why she can't join. She deserves a chance," T-Dog states. "We should put it to a vote then," Rick offers. All nod in agreement. "All those in favor of the lady staying, say aye," Rick explains. Everyone voted aye all except for Shane, Ed, and Daryl. Daryl never spoke a word during the whole conversation; he didn't have much of an opinion on the matter I suppose. "That settles it then, she stays," Rick says, nodding in approval. "What should we call you though? I know that you don't remember your own name, but surely there must be something you wish to be called?" Dale asks, with a smile. "How about Clementine? I always liked the name Clem," Amy exclaims. I wrinkle my nose in disapproval and chuckle at the cliché southern name. "Lydia was my aunt's name, she was a nice lady," Jim suggests. "The name April is pretty," Sophia mutters, shyly. I smile at her but shake my head no. Suddenly Daryl's voice breaks through the silence, "Why not Savannah?" he asks, leaning against the truck, apparently listening to the whole conversation.

"I mean we're in Georgia. Ya'll didn't think about using a city in Georgia?" he scoffs. I stare at him, astounded that he even bothered to put his two cents in. "Savannah?" I question, testing the way it would feel on my tongue. It was true that I still could not recall my actual name or other simple things pertaining to my identity. Everyone stares at me, waiting for my approval or disapproval of the new name. I smile suddenly surprised that I enjoy the feel of it, "Okay, Savannah it is," I reply, feeling a sudden weight lifted off my shoulders. I was already accepted into the group, meaning that half the battle was over. The rest of it was merely continuing to survive.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: The Girl with the Phoenix Tattoo

"Could I perhaps, borrow some soap?" I inquire, bashfully. "Some soap?" Carol asks in return, shooting me a quizzical look. "Well for washing up of course," I state, matter-of-factly. "Oh," she replies, nodding in understanding. She smiles and meanders off to retrieve the soap for me so that I could bathe for the first time in what was probably weeks. I sniff my shirt and inhale the scent of blood, sweat, and something that mysteriously smells like dirty socks. "So, Savannah is it?" Shane asks, sneaking up behind me. I jolt in surprise, "Apparently," I respond, eyeing his figure suspiciously. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest and his eyes are glaring straight into mine, with a look of displeasure. "You said before that you had amnesia, right?" he asks, the distrusting glint still placed within his eyes. "Yes, I still do. I can't remember anything, just flashes of certain things," I answer, wishing that Carol would hurry up with that bar of soap.

"Certain things like what?" he queries. "I don't know just random things that could have happened before. I can see flickers of reanimated corpses and dead bodies scattering the city, things like that," I state, my eyes darting around the scenery nervously. He can't know that I had cancer before. He would be the first person to send me packing, or put a gun to my throat for that matter. "I remember back when I used to be a cop alongside Rick. We got a house call from a woman claiming that her husband had beaten her and that she was growing fearful for her own life. By the time we get there we find the woman dead on the floor, beaten into a bloody pulp. The husband was also there, standing over her with blood smeared all over his hands," he explains, moving his large body closer towards mine. I step back slightly, suddenly very uncomfortable. "Now tell me," he begins, smiling a sharp deadly smile as deadly as a blade. "Do you think that we believed him when he said that he didn't remember a thing?" he asks, centimeters away from my face. "Look, I don't know what your problem is but you need to find someone else to mess with, because I'm not playing these stupid mind games," I retort, practically spitting in his face.

Before he could even mutter another angry word, Carol interrupts us, bringing the bar of soap I asked for earlier. "Thank you Carol," I say, graciously. I ignore Shane's furious expression and shove past him to get to the lake. As I leave, I can hear Shane shouting angry words towards Rick about how I didn't deserve to be here. I don't know this Shane person very well and to be quite honest, I don't want to. He certainly rubs me the wrong way. He has no right to say who does or does not belong in this group. Despite all of that, I am willing to prove to Rick and all of them that I am useful and that I do deserve to belong. I sigh and smile, as I finally reach the lake. It's wide, expansive and a dark muddy color, but it is still H2O all the same. I can't wait to dip my whole body in its soothing waters and clean off all of the disgusting zombie guts plastered to my clothes. I strip all my clothes off and shuffle into the water slowly, shivering from the cold. I take a deep breath and dunk my head in, fully submersing myself in the water.

The cool temperature shocks my system, causing my skin to shiver uncontrollably. As my body adjusts to the water, I bask in its overwhelming calming quality. I float towards the surface and begin to rub my body leisurely with the bar of soap. I watch as the dirt runs off of my body in thick dark streams. I close my eyes and lay back, lounging along with the water. Finally, I am relaxed enough to let my guard down. I hear a cracking noise coming from the forest and suddenly I'm alerted into an upright position. Well, so much for relaxing now. I stare into the trees, anxious as to what could be making the noise. I see my knife, lying next to my jeans about 15 feet away from me. I can reach it in time if I swim fast enough. I ready myself to swim to shore, until I can finally witness what was making the noises that forewarned me in the woods.

A pair of antlers peaks out from the brush and I sigh, immensely relieved. It's just a deer. My taut muscles relax as I fall back into the water, letting myself unwind once again. I turn my head to the side, smiling at this peaceful moment since they seem to be very far and between these days. I even laugh due to the silliness of confusing a cute deer for one of those deadly walkers. Unexpectedly, I feel something grab me from within the water and pull me under. I shout and thrash out, viciously trying to fend off my attacker. I open my eyes underwater and scream. A putrid walker with mouth wide open, jaws gnashing, clings onto my arm rigorously. I attempt to pry its grip from me but I struggle underneath the water, kicking out at the walker's stomach. Water pours into my mouth from shouting in a panic. I blink excruciatingly, finding it hard to breath. Finally, I tear the walker's hands from my arm and kick my way back up towards the surface. I gasp for air and swim as fast as I can to shore, my eyes trained solely on my knife, strategically placed atop my pants.

The walker abruptly grabs onto my ankle, trying to pull me back underneath into the murky abyss beneath. The walker cries out in anger as an arrow flies straight into its eye. I stare up towards the shore and see Daryl, cross-bow held in his hand, taking aim to shoot the walker in the head this time. The arrow hits its target and the walker falls back, floating upon the surface, like a crocodile, sinking sluggishly into the lake's dark waters. I shiver out of fear and because of the sudden cold, as I jump out of the water and away from the walker's inanimate body. Daryl stares at me curiously, trailing his eyes up and down my body. I look down at myself and remember that I'm fully naked. I glance away self-consciously and cover my breasts from his line of sight. "Turn around!" I order, blushing fiercely. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and turns around as I pull my clothes back on, hurriedly. "Jesus woman, what were you 'thinkin?" he demands, waiting impatiently for me to dress completely.

I roll my eyes behind his back as I pull my shirt over my head. "I don't know, I was probably thinking that I felt disgusting and wanted to feel clean," I reply, zipping up my pants. I grip my knife firmly and slip it into my back pocket, protectively. "Without a weapon, you got a death wish don't you?" he scolds, turning around to face me. I frown and stare up into his dark green eyes, irritated by his admonishment. Finally, I sigh and admit defeat, "I know. It was irresponsible to be without my knife, even for a second," I state, agreeing with him. He stares at me, questioningly, "I'm not always 'gonna be around to save your ass from getting killed by walkers you know," he reprimands, bending over to load his crossbow. "You only saved me once Daryl, I would highly count that as always," I tease, heading back towards camp. He licks his thin lips nervously and wipes some stray sweat from his brow, moving the long strands of dark hair away from his sun-kissed face. I study him curiously and notice his sudden apprehension. "Come on now, we're going into the city today to find my brother," he states, attempting to sound complacent. "They never told me who found me in the woods," I say, "It was you, wasn't it?" I ask, smiling smugly.

He stands still as a stone, with his back turned towards me. He glances over his shoulder, "What does the tattoo on your shoulder mean?" he asks his eyes boring into mine. I stay silent, not wanting to respond. "I'll admit that I saved your ass when you tell me what that tattoo means," he offers, wandering off into the forest, leaving me behind to wonder what else he noticed about me besides my tattoo.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: New Chapter

After my last round of chemotherapy, there was no doubt or hesitation in my mind that I wanted a tattoo. I wanted it to be imprinted into my skin, this new chapter of my life. I'd always been an admirer of tattoos ever since I was a little kid. I viewed it like some artistic masterpiece, mapping the important stages of your existence. Once I was cleared by the doctor, I went to the shop and asked them to sketch out my idea. It was a phoenix rising up from the ashes, wrapping its broad tail around a rose, the flower peeking out from the side of its head. It stretched out across my right shoulder, flexing its wings along with my shoulder blades. The phoenix symbolizes my rebirth and the rose represents the new found beauty that comes along with being a survivor.

Shaving those long red locks from my head was a cleansing experience for me. When I first looked in the mirror, I was horrified with the sudden change but once the realization set in, I realized that I was beautiful no matter what my hair did or did not look like. I was a survivor and I embraced that truth by viewing my scars and bruises as a beautiful strength within myself. It is a tattoo that truly meant something to me and I loved sharing the story with those that asked for its meaning, but I couldn't explain to him why it meant so much to me without explaining that I survived cancer. I didn't want to be viewed as weak or inferior by him. After all, not everyone views cancer the same way that I do. I believe that I hold strength within me from surviving something so terrible, but others see me as pitiful and fragile due to the harmful chemicals that were injected into my body, killing off good cells as well as bad.

I stood with Rick and Dale as they taught me how to shoot a gun properly. Over time, I discovered that I had become quite good with a knife, but I've never had any experience with a gun before. Cancer patients tend to be resourceful though, and I have always been a fast learner so I wouldn't worry too much about my capability. "Great job, you sure learn quickly," Rick compliments, patting me on the back. "Thanks, I've been told that," I reply, with a smile. Daryl saunters over, giving me a quick look of curiosity before turning towards Rick, "We're ready," he states, simply. I glance back towards Rick in confusion, "Am I coming with you?" I ask my expression hopeful. He shakes his head slowly, "No I'm sorry, it's just that you still don't have much experience with a gun and this mission will be very dangerous," he responds, apologetic. "I just don't want to take any chances," he adds, gripping my shoulder. "You'll be watching camp though, we need you here. Lori, Carol, Carl, and Sophia all need your protection," he explains, releasing me.

I nod in understanding and look back towards Daryl, searching his expression. He hasn't spoken to me since our conversation in the woods about my tattoo. I wasn't sure that he could keep a secret, so I decided not to explain to him what my tattoo meant. His dark green eyes flit towards mine and I quickly look away, not wanting to be discovered that I was studying him. "Good luck," I state, walking away with my shotgun slung over my shoulder. Someone catches me by the arm, halting my movement. Daryl stares straight into my eyes, "Don't do 'anythin stupid while I'm gone," he says, before making his way towards Rick and the others going on the mission to find Daryl's brother. I snuff at his words, "I never do anything stupid," I mutter under my breath, irritated by Daryl's self-righteousness.

I jolt awake, suddenly realizing that I had fallen asleep while I was supposed to be on watch. I hear a crackling noise coming from the woods and I aim my gun towards the wooded area, careful not to make any noise that might alert a walker. My breathing heavies as I lift the barrel of the gun higher, nervously. I lick my lips and wait for something to happen but nothing does. I lower my gun and hear Lori shout, "Savannah, a walker!" she shouts, finger pointed towards me. I whip my head around and all of a sudden a walker is right in my face, reaching its nails out to scratch me. I fall back in surprise and the walker falls right on top of me. I struggle with it, tucking my knees into my stomach trying to keep it from getting closer to bite me. It drools all over my chest, spilling sickly yellow liquid onto my shirt.

I try to lift the gun up towards the walker's stomach, while trying to keep it from biting my arm. The gun goes off, the walker flying backward and I remain on the ground, rolling in pain from the recoil. The walker crawls towards me, half of its torso blown off from the shotgun blast. I grasp the knife from my back pocket and viciously stab through its skull repeatedly, severing the corpus callosum and probably it's spinal cord. I step back, brusquely out of breath and survey the scene around me. It's like a scene out of Dante's Inferno with demons swarming over us, attempting to snuff the life out of all humans. Our camp is overrun with walkers. I spot a walker, attempting to take a chunk out of Carol and I take aim towards it and shoot, the walker falling backwards, its head blown clear off. Blood splatters Carol's face as she screams out in terror. I run towards her, "Are you alright?!" I shout, searching her body for any bites.

"I'm fine! Find Sophia!" she yells, gripping onto my arm for dear life. I nod and sprint off, searching for any sight of the little girl. I spot Carl, hiding under a little table. "Carl!" I shout, beckoning for him to come over. He sees me and his eyes go wide. He looks both ways before running towards me, grabbing onto me for safety. "Where is your mom?" I demand, hoping to get everyone together and safe. "I don't know! I lost her," he replies, his voice crackly and panicked. "It's okay Carl, we'll find her," I utter, while taking out a walker trying to grab onto us. "Come on," I order, as we search the camp for everyone. I see Lori over by the trailer smacking a walker in the head with a stray cooking pan, with Andrea kneeling next to her sister Amy on the ground. Oh, no she must have been bitten. I run over with Carl and smack the zombie in the face with the butt of my gun. I continue to bash its face in until it doesn't even appear recognizable. I wipe streaks of blood from my face and look up towards Lori, "Thank you," she states, holding her son towards her. "You saved us," she adds, graciously.

"What happened here?" I ask, looking down towards Andrea and Amy. Before Lori can respond I hear gun shots, coming from the front of camp. I see Rick, Daryl and the rest of camp back from their trip. They look on in horror as they realize the terror that has ensued while they were gone. I stare at them, sadly, as I watch them continue to take out the rest of the walkers. Lori begins to cry so I take both Carl and Lori into my arms, comfortingly. "It's alright, their back now," I state, knowing that everything is never going to alright again. This nightmare was to be our life now and nothing was ever going to be the same.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Curiosity

"I can't thank you enough for what you did for my family and for everyone else while we were gone; if I had known this was going to happen I never would have left. Believe me," Rick apologizes, his eyes filled with pain and regret. "Rick, please stop apologizing. It's not your fault. No one could have ever imagined that this was going to happen," I reply, looking over towards Andrea, still weeping over her fallen sister. Rick nods and holds his head in his hands, shamefully. "No, Rick is right. He should put the blame on himself. I knew that gallivanting off on some suicidal mission to rescue some hick's brother was a no good idea, but Rick just can't help but be everybody's hero!" Shane shouts, motioning towards Rick's retreating figure. "This hero is going to get everyone killed," he adds, grabbing Rick by the shirt, angrily.

"Hey, everyone cool it!" I yell, trying to keep order in the situation. "And who are you calling a hick? You white trash," Daryl growls, getting all up in Shane's face. "Daryl, stop! This is not helping one bit," I state, placing myself between Shane and everyone else. "Look, everyone just needs to calm down. This day has been really stressful for all of us," I elucidate. I turn to Daryl, "Did you find your brother?" I ask, hopeful that at least something good came out of today. He shakes his head, "He's out there somewhere. I'm not 'gonna stop looking," he responds, while glaring at Shane. "Don't worry Daryl we will find him, but right now our group needs us," I explain, motioning towards the grieving Andrea. Rick assumes the role of leader once more by making his way over to Andrea for a shoulder to cry on. I spot Dale strolling over, limping on one leg. "Dale, are you okay?" I ask, rushing over to see if he is alright. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine. I just fell over a couple of dead walkers," Dale assures. "I most likely just sprained something," he adds, leaning against me for support.

"Here, sit down," I order, clearing off a space for him to sit on a pull out chair. "Thank you," he states, appreciatively. Shane glares at me angrily but does not move to confront me openly. He's biding his time until the moment is right, when he can confront me alone where no one can reprimand him. What a snake. Daryl, however, stares at me with a hint of respect held beneath his gaze. I retract my curious scrutiny from him to lift Dale's pant leg to inspect the wound. "It's pretty swollen Dale, but I don't think it's broken. Thank god," I say, patting his leg, comfortingly. "Just make sure to keep off of it for the time being," I suggest, stepping back to evaluate his leg from afar. "You're good at that you know," Dale says, his eyes twinkling with pride. "Good at what?" I ask, suddenly confused. "Taking care of others, you would make a good leader," he explains, smiling up at me from his seat.

I grin nervously, "I don't know about that," I reply, fidgeting with my belt loops. "He's right," Daryl suddenly adds. I glance over at him, surprised that the man of few words decided to become so chatty lately. He tilts his head studying me closely, "You could be a good leader, but you hold back too much. It's almost like your guarding yourself," he states, crossing his broad arms over his chest. I was taken aback that Daryl of all people, noticed something like that about me. He doesn't seem like the type of guy to read people well. He doesn't really seem like a people person at all. "I'm going to go hunting, I can't deal with this emotional bullshit," he clarifies, peering over at Andrea's grief-stricken face. Before either of us could say another word, he strolls off towards the woods, casually holding his crossbow over his shoulder.

"You sure you're okay?" I ask Dale once again. He throws his hands up, "Of course, I'm fine. Don't worry about me," he bellows. "Good, because I'll be right back," I explain, following behind Daryl. I check over my shoulder to make sure that Andrea and the rest of the group is all taken care of. Carol and her daughter seem upset as well, but appear unharmed. I turn back towards the forest and follow Daryl's retreating figure, closely. I hear his shoes softly crunching against twigs and fallen leaves. He halts abruptly, almost causing me to crash into him. "I can hear you following me you know. I 'ain't stupid. I've been hunting since I was a kid. I know when someone's behind me," he states, not bothering to turn around. I take a deep breath, "What did you mean when you said I was guarding myself. Guarding myself from what?" I ask, intently curious to know the answer. He is silent for a long moment, and all I can hear is the rustling of wind blowing through the tree branches.

The sound was soft and soothing and didn't really fit in with the catastrophic theme of today. He turns around unexpectedly but maintains his distance from me. "I don't know, you tell me Savannah," he retorts, the moonlight illuminating his shadowy green eyes in the dark. It was strange hearing my new name, rolling from his mouth. He said like it had always without a doubt been my name. My eyes dart around the wooded area, nervously. "There's nothing to tell," I reply, shrugging. God, I'm such a terrible liar. "You may have everyone else fooled that you're little miss sunshine, but I've seen that look in your eyes every so often that tells me you're keeping something," he states, shifting his crossbow slightly. He stares at me, continuing to grimace. A surge of panic rushes through me. "Since when is Mr. Antisocial perceptive?" I ask, hoping to change the subject or at least lighten it. "Just because I don't prance around showing everyone my people skills doesn't mean that I'm an idiot," he retorts, offended by my comment. That kind of proves my point as to how you suck at talking to people. "It doesn't matter anyway. I don't care if you're keeping secrets. As long as it doesn't get us all killed," he says, adjusting his crossbow before turning to leave.

"Wait, Daryl!" I shout. He stops in his tracks, probably irritated by my constant interruption. "What woman?!" he snaps, glancing back at me with those fiery eyes. "You said before that if I explained to you my tattoo then you would tell me who saved me in the forest," I begin, shuffling my feet anxiously. "Do we still have that deal?" I finish, peering at him inquisitively. I could see his mind processing my words, slowly. He pulls a log over and sits down on it, casually placing his crossbow to the side, but within reaching distance. "What have you got? I haven't got all day you know," he asks, impatiently waiting for me to begin.


End file.
